


An Unassuming Life - Part 3

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Series: Domestic!Dean [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:45:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things haven’t been easy since Dean took over ownership of the auto shop. Part of my husband!Dean/domestic!Dean AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unassuming Life - Part 3

 

Your eyes shot open, struggling to see in the dark of your bedroom. You drew in a gasping breath, the nightmare still clinging to you, making your heart race and your lungs constrict. You forced yourself to sit up and take deep breath, trying to fight off the fear. You reached out, your hand landing on your husband’s shoulder. You could feel the deep inhale of his breath and hear the faint snores as he exhaled. You checked the clock on the bedside table. Four a.m.

You laid back against your pillows, staring into the dark. It had been six weeks, four days and nineteen hours since Dean had officially become the owner of the Singer Auto Shop, now renamed Winchester Mechanics. Six weeks, four days and nineteen hours in which you had barely seen your husband. 

Dean was out of bed everyday before the sun was up, eating a quick breakfast and spending a few minutes with Henry before filling his thermos with coffee, giving you a quick kiss goodbye and leaving. You tried to take him lunch most days, you and Henry setting it up in his office and hanging out to eat with him. It gave Henry a chance to spend some time with the father he desperately missed.

He would hold Dean’s hand, wandering around the garage, asking questions about all of the different projects. Dean tried to spend as much time with his son as possible, but it was always cut short, thanks to his new status as the boss. Henry cried every time you had to leave.

You missed Dean just as much as Henry missed his father. You’d only managed to grab a few stolen moments over the last few weeks; a quick make out session in the bathroom early one morning before he left for work, interrupted by Henry; a quickie in his office late one night when you took him dinner, the door locked, Dean’s pants down around the bottom of his ass, your shorts pushed down and off, hooked around one ankle as you rode him in his office chair; in the kitchen one night after he came home at close to midnight, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but not so tired he couldn’t lift you onto the counter and fuck you hard and fast. But it was barely enough. You fell asleep alone most nights and woke up to an empty bed most mornings.

Henry kept you busy, kept your mind off of how much you missed your husband, how hard all of this was on you. Life with a three year old was crazy and even though you wouldn’t have it any other way, it was still hard. There were days you fell asleep less than ten minutes after Henry went to bed, exhausted after trying to keep up with your son, but there were also days when you couldn’t sleep, consumed with worry that Henry wasn’t getting enough time with Dean and it was somehow going to affect him adversely. Some days, you felt like you were losing your mind. 

You were lucky you had Jess to commiserate with; she understood what it was like to live like a single mother even though you were married and she was more than happy to take your desperate phone calls at two in the afternoon when you didn’t think you could handle another minute. The two of you were spending more and more time together, arranging playdates with the cousins so you could have some adult conversation. Jess was a godsend.

The nightmares had started a couple of weeks ago, after yet another week passing with you curled up on your side of the bed, trying to sleep, missing your husband’s touch, the sound of his voice, everything about him. They were vague, unformed nightmares of you running through empty hallways, carrying Henry, calling Dean’s name, unable to find him. They never came to a conclusion, you always woke up first.

You were contemplating getting up, making coffee, maybe watching television, uninterrupted by a three-year-old, when a calloused hand slipped over your hip and a warm body pressed against your back.

“Hey, what are you doing awake?” Dean asked, his voice still thick with sleep. 

You shrugged and moved yourself closer to your husband, reveling in his warmth surrounding you. “Nightmare,” you replied. “Woke me up.”

Dean pulled the sheet up, covering the two of you. He nuzzled your neck, pushing your hair out of the way with his nose, his breath hot against your skin. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand sliding beneath your tank top and up your stomach to your breast. His thumb traced lazy circles around your nipple, making it harden almost immediately. 

“I miss you,” you murmured, lacing your fingers through his.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he agreed. “Missed this.” He pushed his knee between your legs while his hand drifted down your stomach and beneath your sleep shorts, his fingers slipping easily through the soft folds of skin, caressing you lightly. His lips closed around your pulse point, biting gently.

You moaned quietly, your back arching, your ass pressing against Dean, his own arousal evident against your back. He pressed his finger against your clit, circling the tiny nub of nerves, drawing another moan from you just as he slipped his middle finger inside you, pumping it slowly and carefully, drawing out the sensations. He knew exactly what to do to your body, exactly how to make you squirm, exactly how to make you moan and cry out his name.

“Dean,” you whimpered as another finger entered you and his thumb massaged you, quickly pushing your too long neglected body right up to the edge of an orgasm.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled. “Already so wet for me.” He pushed his fingers deep inside you, crooking them in a ‘come hither’ motion, brushing across your sweet spot just as he pressed his thumb against your clit. 

You came in a sudden, unexpected rush, gasping as the orgasm took over your senses. You ground down on his fingers, holding onto his wrist, silently urging him on.

Dean groaned, holding you tight against his body, his hard cock twitching as he rutted against you, his fingers pumping in and out of you, fucking you until you were gasping his name as you came again. He slowly pulled his fingers free, then he roughly pushed your shorts and panties down. You kicked them free while he hurriedly removed his boxer briefs and pulled your leg up, nestling himself between your legs, the tip of his cock just brushing your entrance.

He put his hands on your hips, holding you in place while he slid his thick cock into you, stretching you and filling you completely. His arms slid around you, one hand around your waist, the other cupping your breast, squeezing and pinching the nipple while he slowly thrust into you from behind.

You bit your lip, desperate to hold back the scream you felt building in your throat. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the feel of his hands roaming over your hot skin, his breath on your neck, the faint scent of his soap and deodorant surrounding you, the only sounds were the shift of the sheets as your bodies moved, Dean’s quiet grunts and groans and your tiny gasps of pleasure and the slap of his balls against your ass as he thrust into you.

Dean’s lips moved over your jaw and cheek, kissing you gently. He pulled your earlobe into his mouth, suckling it, nipping at it, then releasing it and licking at the bite mark.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he murmured, his breath warm in your ear. “I want you to come for me, baby. I want to feel your pussy around my dick as you come. So warm and so wet, just for me.” He slid his hand down your stomach, two fingers rubbing at your clit, massaging it. His pumped his hips harder and faster, slamming into you. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel it. Let me feel you come.”

You tossed your head back against Dean’s shoulder, your hips moving in time with Dean’s, his cock moving in and out of you, every stroke sliding against your sweet spot, every twist of his fingers adding to the indescribable pleasure rippling through you, pushing you right over the edge. Your vision went black and every inch of your body felt like it was on fire, the orgasm rushing through you, your walls clenching down on him.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s my girl,” Dean groaned, his grip tightening on you, his cock deep inside you. He rested his head against your cheek, pushing deeper into you with slow, deliberate thrusts until you felt him stiffen and his cock pulsing as he let go, emptying himself inside you.

When it was over, you lay panting in Dean’s arms, satisfied and content. He peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, his cock softening and slipping free, resting against your thigh, the evidence of your lovemaking drying between your legs.

“Hmm,” you hummed quietly. “I love you.”

“I know,” you heard him murmur as your eyes closed and you dozed off.  

* * *

You came awake, stretching, checking to see if Dean was still in bed. He wasn’t, of course. You sighed heavily and pushed yourself up, frustrated by the fact that you were going to be on your own, today of all days. Henry’s first day of preschool. You glanced at the clock. It was time to get moving.

Once your face was washed and your teeth were brushed, you padded down the hallway to Henry’s room and pushed open the door. Your son was not in his small toddler bed.

“Henry?” you called, stepping back into the hall. “Dean?” Your stomach flipped once, nervously.

“Down here, babe,” Dean yelled.

You found Dean and Henry in the living room, sitting on the couch. Dean was helping his son to put on his shoes, tying them carefully while Henry watched, eyes wide, concentrating on everything his father was doing.

Neither of them looked up until Dean had finished. Then and only then did Henry look up and smile at you. 

“Hi, Mommy,” he said. “Daddy tied my new shoes.” He jumped off of the couch and ran across the room, wrapping his arms around your legs. “Did you see how fast I goed?”

“Super fast,” you laughed, crouching down to hug him. “What else did Daddy do?”

“Um, he made me pancakes and we put stuff in my packpack, and Daddy called Gammy so I could talked to her,” he counted off on his fingers. “And he said we had to be super quiet so you could sleep because you was tired, but now you is up so I no have to be quiet no more.”

Dean was laughing quietly, shaking his head at his son’s explanation of his morning. When Henry finally started to wind down, you hugged him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “How about you go watch cartoons while Mommy and Daddy make some coffee?”

Henry nodded and took off at a run, throwing himself on the couch. Dean turned the television on for him while you went into the kitchen. You could smell the coffee already brewing.

You were leaning against the counter, sipping from the mug of coffee you’d poured when Dean’s arms slipped around you from behind and his chin rested on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered, his lips sliding along your jaw.

“Hi,” you breathed, bringing one hand up to brush through the hairs on the back of his head. “What time did you get up?”

“Six or so,” he sighed. “I heard Henry, didn’t want him to wake you, so I got up. He wanted pancakes and well...the rest is history.” He held you against his chest, his fingers dancing lazily up and down your arms.

“You have to go, don’t you?” you murmured.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Ellen Harvelle’s bringing in her food truck at seven thirty, needs me to look at it and fix it before the lunch rush today. So, I need to go.” He kissed your cheek. “I’m sorry. I was hoping to go with you and Henry for his first day.”

You turned in his arms and rested your head against his chest. “It’s fine,” you exhaled. You pushed yourself up on the tips of your toes and kissed him on the mouth. “We’ll be fine. Call me when you’re not busy and I’ll tell you how it went.”

He nodded, pushing himself away from you reluctantly. He grabbed his keys from the counter and gave you one last kiss. His voice carried through the house as he said goodbye to Henry, then the front door slammed closed. 

“Come on Henry,” you called. “Let’s go to school.”

* * *

It turned out to be a better day than you had imagined it could be, starting with the quality time you’d managed to spend with Dean, and the fact that he’d let you sleep in and made coffee and pancakes. It had only continued when you’d taken Henry to preschool. You’d feared that he would hate it, but it turned out he loved it, took right to it in fact, running off to play with his new classmates the second you hit the playground, shouting goodbye over his shoulder, oddly reminiscent of his father.

You were grateful for the four hours of freedom - you went to the grocery store, washed a couple loads of laundry, did some dishes and relaxed with your feet up and a cup of coffee. You actually felt like you’d accomplished something and you couldn’t wait to pick up your son and hear all about his first day. 

The call came just before you had to leave to pick up Henry. You almost didn’t answer; you were in a hurry and a call from Sam could wait. If you’d been in the car you wouldn’t have answered, but since you were still standing in the driveway, your hand on the handle of your car, you answered.

“Hey, Sam,” you said. “I can’t talk, I’m on my way to get Henry.”

“I’ll send my mom to get him,” Sam interrupted you.

“Why?” you asked, confused.

“Y/N,” he sighed, exasperated. “It’s Dean. He’s in the hospital.”


End file.
